More From Guatemala

I have to tell you one more story our Garcia loving
guide-friend told us. When he was a kid (50 years
ago) the Catholic church provided the Black kids with
a teacher from Uganda who was a nun. They thought she
was so black she looked blue. They had never seen
such a black person before. The kids were all afraid
of her and dared each other to find something on the
island as black as that nun. Well, our friend stole
an 8-ball from the local bar and took it to school.
The police came to school and found it in his desk.
He got quite a whipping not only for stealing but for
making fun of a nun. Afterwards he came to really
like that nun.
We got ready to leave Livingston and were given a lift
by some people med evacuating some poor old man who
must have had a rough night. His family came down on
shore to see him off. It was kind of weird but it
allowed us to make all our connections and we got
clear across the country today to Lake Atitlan.
Everyone was on the main street in Livingston and they
are here also--Lots of music.
When we changed buses and bus stations in Guatemala
City--boy did we hit the slums. I wanted to buy
something to eat. I thought all the stores were
closed because they had bars completely around them.
You can,t even go in them. Everything is passed out
through a cage. I used the bathroom--the only chance
I got all day and I rolled up my pants legs because I
was afraid they would touch the floor.
Well, it was another 4 hours in a chicken bus. I
swear--no more chicken for me. I know some of those
chickens on the top of the buses are dead. Their
heads are all hung over. The ones still alive don,t
look any too good. They ride on the top of a bus
going 60 miles an hour for all day before they even
get where they are going.
Anyway its good to be back where my Spanish works a
bit better.
Brad and I shared a two passenger seat with a lady
that made Brad look small. We suffered.
The Indian women here wear the most beautiful
traditional clothes. They are all intricately woven
and embroidered. They wear them everyday. Its like
wearing your best formal out to slaughter the
chickens--but they do look beautiful. They grow lots
of crops here in the mountains. Small terraced farms
crawl up every mountainside--all worked by hand.
Tomorrow we are crossing the lake in a small open
boat--I hope it,s not a repeat of our near death
experience in Peru.